


Gears and Cogs

by the_sylph_of_mind



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, F/M, mature content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sylph_of_mind/pseuds/the_sylph_of_mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius receives a distress call from Aradia and rushes to her aid, beginning a series of events where each learns about the other, and red feelings begin to stir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distress Call

**Author's Note:**

> The deal behind this whole fic is I was bored at work one day and texted my boyfriend: "equius help i t00k an arr0w t0 the knee", so please don't be put off by the punny beginning, I put a lot of thought and time into what comes later. Enjoy!

      Your name is EQUIUS ZAHHAK. You are currently in your WORKSHOP, chewing the end of your GRAPHITE WRITING UTENSIL and mulling over several generations of ROBOTICS BLUEPRINTS. The hydraulics in this design would render your competition faster, but the gear-based mechanism is less liable to malfunction. You write a numeral next to a sketched wrist component in your PERSONAL CODE. Nobody is going to steal your designs (nobody is interested), but you’d like to think they’d try, just so you could watch their efforts be for naught.  
Your HUSKTOP lights up from atop your toolbox on the other side of the room. Somebody has messaged you. You glance up and notice the color of the text the incoming message bears. Your utensil snaps in half.  
     You struggle with the series of depraved urges that wash over you. A lowblood distracting you from your work is reprehensible on her part and disgraceful on yours. You work a piece of wire between your fingers as the conflicting emotions blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah just go answer Aradia already.  
You stand at your husktop, perched on the flaking toolbox, and peer over your shades to read what the deplorable lowblood who smells like the first rain has to say to someone of your stature.

apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

[AA] equius  
[CT] D --> Yes what is it  
[AA] y0u kn0w ab0ut arr0ws and stuff right  
[CT] D --> Yes  
[CT] D --> I am an archery e%pert  
[CT] D --> What of it  
[AA] g00d because I t00k 0ne t0 the knee  
[CT] D --> Wait  
[CT] D --> Are you trying to make a f001 out of me  
[CT] D --> Is this supposed to be a joke  
[CT] D --> Isn’t this a meme from the epic fantasy game which is the fifth in the series about a set of scrolls which contain all knowledge, and in said game the protagonist of a species and se% of your choosing must join the rebellion of the current empire and save or overthrow said empire, whilst killing all of the dragons and taking their souls to better him or herself  
[CT] D --> How dare you  
[AA] n0 like i really d0 have an arr0w in my knee  
[AA] d0 y0u kn0w h0w t0 take it 0ut  
[CT] D --> …Oh  
[CT] D --> Is the head of the arrow completely embedded in your knee  
[AA] h0w d0 i tell if it is  
[CT] D --> 100k at the wound  
[CT] D --> Are the barbs at the back of the arrowhead in your flesh or are they e%posed  
[AA] 0ne is  
[CT] D --> Drat  
[CT] D --> You will have to dig out the flesh around that barb and pull the arrow out  
[CT] D --> Be sure to remove the shaft first  
[CT] D --> It will not be pleasant  
[CT] D --> You may lose a leg  
[CT] D --> But  
[CT] D --> I can always craft a new one

apocalypseArisen [AA] has become idle

[CT] D --> Aradia  
[CT] D --> Are you there  
[CT] D --> …

centaursTesticle [CT] ceased trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

     You fling open your workshop door and bolt past a bemused Aurthour, hurriedly tossing half an explanation over your shoulder. The canteen you keep on your belt for when you are in your workshop bounces against your hip in time with your pace. The front door flies off its hinges and skids twenty feet along the rough ground before grinding to a halt just before tipping over the edge of the cliff into the canyon, where Vriska’s monstrous lusus dwelled. You brace your foot against a rock jutting from the hard ground and launch yourself thirty feet forward, using all your strength to propel yourself as far and as fast as feasible.  
Aradia doesn’t live far from you; you can be there in thirty minutes if you push yourself. Her deplorable hue crosses your mind, and your stomach turns at the depravity. You, a blueblood, pushing your body to its limit trying to reach her, to _aid_ her. Your pace increases.


	2. Extraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some depictions of blood in this chapter, fair warning!

             You aren’t sure whether to knock or not. You try and the door breaks. It clatters onto the floor of Aradia’s hive, slightly bent in the middle. You gingerly step over the threshold and the damaged door, peering around and wiping sweat from your forehead. You call out Aradia’s name, but there is no answer.  There is a breeze moving through the hive now, swooshing around you and out the front door. The back one must be open, perhaps she is outside? You follow the current of the breeze.

            The back door does indeed swing freely upon its hinges, smearing dark red blood in a semi circle on the hard wood floor. You choke back a gag, horror upsetting your lunch. The trail continues up a set of stairs adjacent to the door, dribbled, smudged, sticky.  Your palms become covered in the stuff as you race up the staircase, grasping the hand rails and launching yourself up six steps at a time. 

            Aradia is unconscious on the floor by her husktop; the keyboard and nearby outlet are dabbled with her blood. Half an arrow juts from her right leg, just below the kneecap. It looks…old. Her lips are pale. You race to her side and kneel down, but hesitate to touch her. You notice your hands, stained maroon, and your stomach sinks. It’s probably best not to move her, anyway. You lean your ear close to her mouth and make certain she is still breathing, if shallowly. You examine the wound. You could see she had tried to dig out the barb herself, but must have passed out from blood loss before she could finish the task. The bleeding has appeared to stop, for now. Who knows how far she was from her hive when whatever this incident was took place? How far did she have to limp, crawl, or drag herself to reach her hive and call for help? How much blood has she lost?

            You need to wake her. Still reluctant to touch her, you look around, searching for something that would aid you. There’s a small ablution room adjacent to her respiteblock, and you fill your sizeable hands with cold water, gently nudging the faucet off with your elbow. You hope you didn’t bend it.

            Aradia gasps when you pour the water over her face. She does not open her eyes or move otherwise. You kneel over her, your hair dangling down and nearly brushing her cheek.

            “Aradia?”

            She groans and coughs. Her eyes flutter open and blearily spin around the room for a moment before finding and settling on your face. You let a sigh of relief escape your lips and her hair shifts a little in your breath. You quickly sit back, realizing how close you were to her. You hope you aren’t blushing.

            “Aradia? Are you coherent?”

Her breathing evens out and she swallows hard.

            “Yes.”

            “Oh, good.” A drop of perspiration runs down your nose. You remove your shades and roughly wipe the cold sweat from your eyes. She shifts and winces. You force your hands to remain steady.

            “Aradia, listen to me. I am going to attempt to remove the remainder of the arrow.” You hold out your hand, palm down so she doesn’t see the blood.

“Squeeze my hand if you must, but I regret that I will not be able to safely squeeze back.”

            She reaches out for your hand, shapely, pale, dexterous fingers curling around your own. Your ears turn blue.

            “On three,” You say as you position your free hand near her knee, trying not to touch the skin pulled taught around the wound.

“…Three.”

           You yank the arrow from her leg. Her eyes fly open and she emits a short, choked shriek, her body tensing and lifting her up at the sudden pain. She falls back, stifles a sob, and shakily steadies her breathing while you tear a towel from your back pocket (you make sure it is one that you haven’t used yet) into strips and quickly wrap the reopened wound.

            “I apologize for my underhandedness, it was distasteful.”

            She still hasn’t spoken. She is biting her lower lip hard, forcing color back into it. Tears shimmer at the very corners of her eyes, but she refuses to let them slide down her cheeks. You once again extend your hand meekly and she takes it, entwining her fingers with yours and squeezing hard. You can see her pulse through her fingernails, which have paled to near translucent. The pallid yellow is tainted with maroon in time with her bloodpusher beat.  Small flutterbeasts dive-bomb the shit out of your insides.

            “If it helps, I could find the troll responsible and reprimand him.”

She opens her eyes and finally speaks.

          “No, no, nobody shot me,” Her voice shakes slightly. “I was digging in some ruins, and there was an arrow sticking out of some rocks. I should have excavated that first, but...” She pauses to breathe heavily, swallowing hard. “I slipped from higher up and…” She coughs, “…it broke in half, but the sharp half was in my leg and I couldn’t figure out how to remove it and my husktop had run out of battery and I never really bring the charger because there’s never anywhere to charge it on a site so I…” Her grip on your hand loosens a bit and fear turns in your stomach.

            You offer her your canteen. You made it yourself, sturdy and thick, after growing impatient with other containers shattering in your massive hands.

            “This will help. Can you sit up?”

            She does so and grips the black canteen, raising it to her lips. She sips once and then coughs.

            “This tastes like iron.”

            “Hm…perhaps I should use steel next time. At least the iron does not taint the nutrients in the lusus milk. I am quite glad you are not spitting it out, most trolls think it is disgusting.”

            Aradia had stopped sipping a full sentence ago and is holding a gulp of lusus milk in her mouth. She clenches her teeth and swallows.

            “I thought this was water…but it’s okay I guess.”

            She pauses and looks you up and down, frowning. Your eyebrows are knit together, as they usually are, but what gives you away are your eyes. Your shades still lie by your knee, forgotten, which is an unusual thing for you to forget.

            “What are you thinking, Equius?” She asks, locking eyes with you, as bold as a lowblood can be and nerve-wracking as an empress could get, even in her feeble state.

             “…That…you should have removed all hazards first. It was very foolish of you to leave a dangerous object in a position where it could cause you physical harm. Why did you not excavate it?”

Her eyes lower and she fiddles with the canteen, taking her time screwing the cap back on before she sets it by your knee and takes a breath to speak.

            “Because…it…reminded me of you.”

You nearly choke.

           “…Oh.”

Your hands begin to tremble and you let go of hers in the hopes that she hasn’t noticed. Her eyes fall for a moment and she laces her fingers together in her lap.

            “Poetic if you think about it.”

            “I do not see any poetry in this whatsoever.”

She looks at her hands.

            “Point is…I think…I think I need some food.”

            “Yes, of course…but, I am not much of a cook…what I mean is, can you stand?”

            “I have a chunk of my knee gone.”

            “Are you implying…but, but that…do you want me to _carry_ you?”

            “Yes please.”

You reach for your shades and cover your eyes the hell up.

            “Only because I see no other options, and because I know others value you as a friend and it would be discreditable for me to leave you here to starve, I will carry you.”

            “I doubt you ran all the way here because others value me as a friend.”

            “I…be quiet.” Your teeth grind when she smirks.

You reach under her and carefully try to lift her up without causing her pain. You grasp behind her knees very gently, and she reaches around your neck as you lift her into your arms. She says ow and that’s that. Her resilience as a lowblood is impressive; perchance you have been underestimating her? She weighs as much as a teaspoon of mind honey, but that very well might be an illusion supplied by your ridiculous STRENGTH.

You can tell her center of balance is still shaky. Her head wobbles and comes to rest beneath your collarbone with a small thump. You struggle to keep your pulse from increasing. Her skin is cold (being where she is on the hemospectrum), and it offers relief against your perpetually overwarm skin. Her eyelashes flutter against the exposed skin on your chest, and you warm up a little more. You decide that she is a little colder than she should be, though. You hurry towards the sustenance hollow. 

Walking down the stairs with Aradia is a delicate situation, especially since they are still sticky with smears of her blood. You hope she doesn’t see. You make your way to the sustenance hollow and gently set her on the countertop. You open the hunger trunk and poke through its contents for something that doesn’t require cooking. The depravity of the situation finally claws its way out of your stomach and burns in your throat.

          “I can’t believe I’m aiding you,” you mutter into the hunger trunk. “Can you imagine the scandal?” You fume and grip the handle of the trunk door and feel it crack beneath your palm. You hurriedly release it and it swings shut with a ghostly _whooothp_. You meekly turn to apologize and offer to build a replacement and see Aradia cupping her forehead in her hands.

          “Aradia?”

          “I have a headache…”

You see there is a bowl of assorted tree spheres on a nearby table and move to get her something, anything that will raise her blood sugar. You select a yellow phallus fruit and carefully take it to her, between two fingers, in an effort not to smash it by accident.

        “Easy now,” You say as she wobbles; you gently take her shoulder in your hand and offer the fruit, thinking to yourself that there must be a better name for such a thing as she unpeels it.

          “Thanks,” She eats it in record time and moves to stand to throw the peel away. She pauses in a moment of pain, meekly looks up at you, and asks if you could take the peel to the receptacle across the room. You do so, and when you turn back to her she is looking at her hands in her lap. “I won’t be able to do anything by myself for a day or two until this heals enough for me to walk…”

You would try to console her, but wouldn’t know where to begin.

         “I would recommend relying on your lusus for a while until you have recovered. Speaking of which, where is she?”

         “At Tavros’ hive. His lusus needs all the help he can get, and I can take care of myself…up until now…in which case, it looks like I rely on you.”  

Your ears turn one hundred percent blue and you flatten them, obscuring them behind your hair.

        “What? But—me?”

        “Looks like.”

        “This will not work.”

Her face falls.

            “I wasn’t implying that you should keep—”

            “Vriska would grow suspicious of my whereabouts and that would bode ill for both of us. You and your lusus are being particularly honorable in aiding Nitram; I agree that he will surely require much support in his short lowblood life. It is obvious you must stay with me. Aurthour can aid me in helping you recover. He is simply the best there is.”

            After the words leave your mouth, you realize that you just invited, _insisted_ that a lowblood come stay in your hive, and that you would _aid her in recovery._ Your horror is nipped in the bud by how bright Aradia’s smile is when she realizes the same.

 


	3. Daymares

          You are currenly in your respiteblock, sound asleep. It is sunset outside, so you will be waking up soon. Sharing a wall with your respiteblock is your guestpiteblock, where Aradia has been staying for a day or two while she heals from an accident on a dig. You are actually dreaming about her right now, and how she has been living with you, but that’s private.

 

         You are awakened by the sound of screaming.

Slime sloshes across the floor as your recuperacoon tips over in your struggle to get the hell out of it. You run straight through the thin adjoining wall, rubble flies everywhere.

          “Aradia, what is it!?”

She hauls herself up to peek over the top of your spare recuperacoon, holding onto the edge for balance. She begins to answer you, and then notices the state of the room midsentence.

         “I…had a daymare?”

         “Oh. You are otherwise alright?”

        “My leg is a little stiff…”

She slips and grabs the edge of the recuperacoon, you rush to her and help her out of it.   

            “There’s rubble everywhere.”

            “Oh. Yes. I ran through the wall.”

            “I figured.”

There is a brief moment where neither of you speak. You say the first thing that comes to mind.

          “I would recommend a change of clothes.”

          “I would too.” She says, looking you up and down. “Though I might need to borrow some of yours, if that’s okay. My spares haven’t been cleaned yet.”

          “None of my garments will fit you,” You say, “I am much larger than you.”

She examines you from the waist down for a moment and your bloodpusher stops.

 

          “Your shorts probably not, actually. I could wear just a shirt; it’ll go to my knees. Either that or I wait in the ablution room until my clothes are clean.”

You weigh the options.

            “Uh, hm. I suppose you could take a shirt, just do not strut about indecently.”

            “Okay.” She uses your arm for balance and tip toes over rubble towards the gigantic gaping hole in the wall that now leads to your room. “I feel like an old troll…” She sighs.

            “I understand bad dreams can often take a physical toll. Don’t fret, you will feel better soon.”

            “Thanks. Also, though I appreciate your…fervor in your concern, don’t worry too much if you hear me in distress in the middle of the day. I’ve had bad dreams for as long as I can remember. Voices of the dead and whatever.”

            You lead her through your respiteblock to your ablution room, neither of which she has ever seen. You feel embarrassed that it is now such a terrible mess. You notice her glance at your nude musclebeast portraits and quickly drop her gaze to her feet.

            “That sounds absolutely horrid. Canter you command them to stop?”

She grins a little.

            “They don’t bother me that much. I’d miss them if they left. Mostly they’re just asking for someone to listen. Even if it meant sleeping better, I don’t want to rob them of one of their only confidantes.”

She steps into your ablution room and you close the door for her, continuing your conversation through the door. You hear her turn on the water to the ablution trap.

            “I suppose I do not understand your sentiments.” You begin to change your own clothes, removing your slime-stained sleep shirt and tossing it into the nearby receptacle. “If someone was bothering me I would tell them to leave immediately.  Perhaps it is because I am in a higher caste.”

            You wipe your body and hair down with a towel and a sopor removing solution. You wrap a hair tie around your wrist and take a brush to your surprisingly fine hair.

            “If they were higher, would you help them?”

            You pull two identical shirts (all your shirts are identical) from your wardrobe niche, and pull one of them on.

            “I…don’t know. I suppose I would.”

            “Now let me ask you this,” Aradia calls through the door as you pull on a pair of clean thigh-highs, “Ghosts don’t have blood. Do you still feel the same?”

            You begin pouring the sopor cleaning solution into the rug. You’ll have Aurthour assist you in the cleanup. You haven’t tipped your recuperacoon since you were small; how embarrassing.

            “Hm…this is perplexing…”

            “Exactly.  Everyone is equal in death, and lots of them have unresolved issues.” She opens the door a crack and reaches a shapely hand through. You hand her your spare shirt. “I want to help them if I can. That’s why I’m so interested in archaeology. Maybe I’ll dig up something from one of their pasts that might help them.”

            You go to the mirror, push your shades onto the bridge of your nose, and tie your hair into a high hoofbeasttail.

            “Why do you wish to help them?” You call to her through the door. “You owe them nothing and they offer nothing.”

            There is a pause before she answers you.

            “Because they want some friends, and I’d want some friends when I go there too. I know I won’t live long.”

            She opens the ablution room door, a cloud of steam rushes out, surrounding and obscuring her for a moment. Her hair sticks to her arms and runs all the way down her back. It is longer when it is wet. Your shirt does, indeed, hang down to just above her knees, and drapes loosely around her shoulders.  The once crippling injury just below her kneecap has quickly faded to a little pink scar, vaguely reflecting her blood color. The steam sticks to your skin and you speak, miraculously avoiding stuttering.

            “I suppose you have a point.”

She twirls around slowly, her hair shedding drops of warm water.

            “How do I look?

            “You look…” You chew the inside of your cheek for a moment. “…like you are wearing my shirt.”

            “Mhm,” She smiles a little. “Thank you. For the clothes, and the bath.”

            “It was only decent.”

            “I’ll go clean my clothes and hang them up. I know you’re busy. I’ll find you in your workshop?”

            “Yes.”

She begins to walk to the door of your respiteblock, and turns back to look at you.

            “I like your hair up.”

She exits and you smile so wide it hurts.

 


	4. Proposition

 

            You are pouring over a set of different sized screws, lined up on your worktable, turning a wrench over and over in your hands when Aradia walks into your shop. She knocks gently on the wall to announce her presence, and makes you jump slightly. You didn’t hear her come down the stairs, even given your STRONG hearing. Barefoot, she is silent as a flutterbeast, or a ghost. She is still wearing your shirt.

            “Sorry,”

            “I shall graciously forgive you for startling me.”

She raises an eyebrow.

           “It took me a minute to find this room.” She says, looking around. She picks up a red glass eye apparatus and turns it over in her hands. You puff your chest out as she appraises your handiwork.

             “Would you like to learn about robotics?” You ask her, brightening a little to see her interest.

            “Sure.”

Where to start? You fiddle with the wrench in your hands.

           “Well um, first of all…what do you know about robotics?”

           “I usually surround myself with things that have been dead for millenia. So not much.”

           “Ah. Well…what would you like to know?”

           “Do they have souls?”

Her odd responses keep catching you off guard. She is still examining the red faceted eye in her hands.

            “That is an interesting question…they do not, but I suppose they could be occupied by one.”

            “What would the robots you fight do if they beat you?”

You pause and think.

            “Most likely, try to escape the cage and kill other trolls.”

She raises an eyebrow at you.

            “Oh. That doesn’t sound good. Maybe you should program them to get help if you go down for a while or something.”

            “I have tried. Such a sub-routine that conflicts with the robot’s prime directive causes it to shut down. Or explode.”

            “Oh. Well. Don’t lose, then.”

You puff your chest out.

            “I never do.”

She smiles and picks up a matching glass eye. She holds them up over her own and ogles you with them.

            “Stop that. That is ridiculous…although, hm.”

            “What?”

            “You would not be unattractive as a robot.”

She lowers the robot parts.

            “That’s…a weird thing to say. But thank you, I think.”

Oh crap, you think you’ve offended her. Your wrench obtains a few more divots as you clutch it and you begin to sweat.

            “I apologize. That was rude of me.”

            “How was it rude? There’s no need to say sorry. Here.”

             She picks up one of the towels you keep handy in your shop and tosses it to you. You catch it in one hand and dab your face, mumbling your thanks, meekly. She asks what you are working on now.

            “I was debating on whether to use hydraulic or gear-based kinetics in my newer models.”

            “Gears seem a little more reliable.” She muses aloud, fiddling with a large copper gear, twirling it in her hands and placing it on her chest like a pendant.

            “Yes, but hydraulics are stronger, and recently I have faced no challenge in combat with my battlebots.”

Aradia’s ears perk up and she returns the gear to its box, turning toward you.

            “You need a challenge, hm?”

            “Yes. I have yet to find anything that is.” As soon as the words leave your mouth you realize they aren’t entirely true, but Aradia is speaking again.

            “I think I know just the thing.”

            “And what is that?”

            “Is the satchel I brought still by the door?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good. “

There is a brief silence.

            “…Why? What do you propose?”

            “My satchel has my hammers and chisels and brushes in it, and I propose going on a little dig.”

            “I…what? No. Absolutely not. That’s preposterous! I have no desire to gallivant about in the dirt--”

            Her face falls a little. Your heart sinks and you fiddle with your hair. You think fast and offer a compromise:

            “If I step outside my comfort zone, would you return the favor and allow me to demonstrate to you something at which I am proficient?”

Her brows knit together.

            “I guess that’s a fair trade, sure.”   

             “Well I…”

You fiddle with your hair a little more. You’re gonna start a fire soon.

            “I…I suppose, since your leg is almost completely healed, I could give you a few tips on self-defense. I’m sure that during the last few sweeps playing FLARP you’ve accrued an enemy or two.”

She considers. She extends her scarred leg and flexes it, bends it, tests its willingness to stretch and bear weight. You blush.

            “Yeah, actually. Sure, that sounds okay.”

You light up like a Twelfth Perigee’s Eve Tree.


	5. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor depictions of fist fighting and oxygen deprivation are in this chapter, head's up!

             You lead Aradia to your sparring ring. You had lent her a pair of your gloves and belted one of your pairs of shorts onto her for the engagement. She doesn’t fit into any of your clothes and you feel your heart melt a little. You step behind her and inadvertently breathe in her scent. Your chest tightens.

            “Aradia, I am going to position your arms and feet in a basic stance. I will not hurt you. I am using every ounce of control I possess.”  

            “I trust you.”

            Your eyes widen behind your shades and your bloodpusher beat increases to a frenzied staccato. You say nothing as you gently take her wrists and position her arms, feeling her pulse and accidentally burying your nose in her hair. You let go before you have a seizure.

You move to stand opposite Aradia in the sparring ring. She stands with her arms raised and her hind foot braced, poised to move quickly.

            “Aradia. I want you to try and hit me.”

She lowers her arms.

            “Just like that?”

            “Yes.”

            “But you haven’t shown me anything…”

            “I will. I wish to gauge your natural abilities first. Just hit m—”

She lunges forward. You are caught a little off-guard, but manage to block her attack. Her face is inches from yours. You instruct her through the crisscross of your arm blocking hers.

            “Keep your thumbs curled under your fingers, not within them. I see you favor the element of surprise, good. Never underestimate that.” You turn and break away from her, but don’t grasp her wrist to counter her. “You have a lot of force and passion in your attack, but you are not fighting to disarm me, you are fighting to fight me, and you’ll become exhausted and you will lose.” You duck and dart behind her, trying to gain the upper ground. She sees your trajectory and digs her heel in, spinning on a dime and taking your intended ground, forcing you to reposition. “You’re clever, you’re fast, use that to your advantage. Put thought into where you should strike in order to incapacitate your enemy, like the chest or ribs. Always look for your opponent’s weak points _and_ his possible next strike, not unlike the strategies behind chess.”

         “Chess, huh? Which piece am I?” She strikes at your side.

          “The queen, of course.” You block her, bob low and gain the ground behind her, but hesitate to touch her and disarm her. She uses your moment of hesitation to drop low and throw her weight into your hip, actually knocking you off balance. You stumble and throw your forearms out to block your fall. You roll as soon as you hit the ground, and in a daze see Aradia mid-pounce, her hair streaming out behind her as she lunges for you. Your infatuation proves fatal and she has your arms pinned with her knees and her hand at your throat.

You begin to feel giddy as the oxygen supply to your thinkpan is steadily reduced. Your body relaxes, and you stop fighting her.

She blinks and quickly releases your throat. You suck in air and the color drains from your face.

          “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I didn’t think I even could, so I didn’t hold back, I’m sorry—”

          “No, no I am quite alright. That was…quite good. Surprisingly good. I appreciate that you did not hold back. You are quite capable for a—for…you are quite capable.”

She shifts and sits next to you, allowing you to sit up and brush the hair out of your eyes.

         “You weren’t countering.”

          “No.”

         “Why not?”

          “Is it not obvious?”

         “Not after what I just did. Aren’t you convinced I can handle you?”

She brings up a good point.

            “That is only some of the issue.”

            “And what’s the rest of it?”

You chew your tongue.

            “You asked me during combat which piece of the chess set you were. I answered with the Queen.”

She nods.

“You might ask which piece I am. I believe I am best suited to a knight. I am compelled, no, bound by something I don’t quite understand to protect you. Though I am your loyal knight, I am never next to you. At the beginning of a match I am separated from you by a bishop. During, I am across the board, sacrificing myself for other pieces. I am only in contact with you once you are in danger, once you need protecting, and once you are safe, I am either dead or sent to protect another piece…” You consider glancing up from your hands to look at her, think better of it, and continue.

“The reason I was not countering you is not only because I fear accidentally physically harming you, it is also because taking an offensive action against you feels _wrong_. I want to protect you, and I’m not entirely sure why. I simply need to. I need you to be safe. If you were hurt, or if you…if you were fatally hurt, and I were not there to redirect whatever blow struck you, or even take the damage to my person, I would blame myself. I may hardly ever speak to you; you might find me less than appealing; but when you are in danger, I will be there to pull a centuries-old arrow out of your knee.”

            Your bloodpusher is aching in your chest from the weight of your words, the weight of the truth finally coming out. Yes, you would kill for her, take injury in her stead, die for her if you must, even if only for her happiness. You’d never connected the dots linearly like that before, and the dawning realization, the instinct to protect her, even though counterintuitive to your caste, comes crashing down onto you like a wall of water, suffocating you, before Aradia throws you a lifeline, her hand coving yours. You gasp and gulp and grasp her hand as she pulls you to safety, pulls you into an embrace. You rest your head on hers and sigh.

            She gives you a squeeze before pulling back and giving you a gentle smile. You consider smiling back, but decide against it. You don’t want to chance creeping her out. You settle with nodding gently before sitting straight again and coughing.

            “So, you showed me something new,” She says.  “I think we had a deal, right?”

            “Yes.” You stand and offer her your hand. She takes it and ascends with the grace of a goddess, brushing her skirt and smiling at you. 


	6. Shatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very brief mention of blood near the end, head's up.

          She plucks her satchel from the side table and swings the door shut behind her. You follow her out of the hive and into the night. She edges along the wall, avoiding the view from Vriska’s hive. She leads you down the winding path, lazily looping along the cliffside, and hops down into a niche, off the track. She kneels, trailing her fingers along the rock, and brushes dust from a lump in the wall. She waves you closer and directs your attention to it as she rummages around in her satchel, producing a little hammer and chisel.

            “There. See that?”

            “Yes. What of it?”

She hands you the tools.

            “If you wanted a challenge here it is. Try to excavate that bone.”

            “What? But…I thought…expecting me to be able to perform delicate tasks like successfully exhuming centuries-old fossils is silly. Not to mention depraved. A blueblood, fooling around in the dirt…” Her face falls and you scramble for words. “Besides, I can just destroy the rock with a single STRONG punch.”

            “And wreck the foundation of your hive?”

You grumble and kneel down beside her. She shows you how to position the chisel and indicates the ideal point to begin excavating whatever it is she’s having you dig up.

            “Do I really need to be precise about this sort of thing?” You mumble into the rock. “You understand that to build mechanical creations of formidable STRENGTH I must be precise anyway?”

            “Not precise like this. Those parts you build your bots with, they’re replaceable?”

            “Yes.”

            “Things like this aren’t. I think this will be a good experience, come on. Give it a try.”

You gently tap the chisel. It bites into the rock and a puff of dust rises up into your nose. You cough and grit your teeth. You feel one nearly crack.

            “You see it? The difference in texture?” She leans in close to you, glowing like a live wire. “Don’t get too close to the bone. Careful…keep going.”

            “I am being careful,” you growl. You hit the chisel a little too hard.      

            “Equius, hold on,” She puts a hand on yours and you freeze. Have you done something wrong?

            “What? What is it?”

            “Pause a moment. Don’t get frustrated. Look at what you’ve excavated so far and decide where you’re going to dig next. Like chess, or…deciding the next punch in a combat, or something.”

            “Usually one punch is enough,” You growl into the rock. You feel Aradia stiffen beside you.

            “Well this is a bigger challenge than a one-punch robot. You really are a snob.” She shifts away from you and your heart sinks.

            “I am not. I just…don’t understand delicacy. Could you demonstrate?” 

She lights up again and agrees. She takes the tools from you and deftly chips away at the bump of rock, exposing bone. She points to a curve in the fossil.

            “See that weak point there? You want to excavate that part first so the rock holding it in has been loosened as much as possible.”

            “Wait, are you saying to excavate the STRONGEST part last?”

            “Mhm! When working with something so fragile, you want to make sure you enforce its structure for as long as you can before removing it and taking it into your own hands.” She smiles and runs her fingertip gently along the curve in the fossil again. These dead things underground really are very important to her, you realize. “Something like a fossil really is one of a kind. If it gets lost or broken, there’s no way to replace it. I wonder what this is. Wanna find out?”

            You doubt your abilities, but she’s smiling at you with enough energy to power your hive and you don’t want to disappoint her or make that smile slip from her face, so you swallow and give a short nod and place the chisel to the stone.  You try to pinpoint where in the stone you would chip away if it were a robot you were disassembling after a battle, trying to salvage every piece possible. You furrow your brow and peer over the tops of your shades, gripping the handle of the hammer a little too tight. Sweat begins to slick your brow, and you shake your head, gritting your teeth. Your shoulders strain as you try to control your movements to a tee. You cock your arm back and aim the hammer at the end of the chisel, testing the arc of your movements a few times before inhaling with the intention to strike. Your eyebrows become saturated and sweat pours into your eyes, blinding you as you bring the hammer down.

            Jarring vibrations rattle painfully throughout your arm. You gasp in shock and drop the chisel to hurriedly wipe the sweat from your eyes. Your stomach fills up with ice when you see the fossil, shattered, crumbling from the wall, with the hammer biting deep into its center, your hand still gripping it, missing by an inch the mark the chisel had made.

            You drop the hammer like a hot coal and push yourself back away from the wall, as if removing yourself from its proximity would minimize the damage done to the ruined artifact. You glance fearfully at Aradia. She stares blankly, perhaps a little sadly, at the crater where the mysterious fossil had aged for centuries, and now is an unidentifiable pile of dust and rubble. She reaches out slowly and takes the largest fragment from the debris and holds it in her hands, cradling it like a dead featherbeast. She runs her finger gently over it, the curving movement cut short where the bone abruptly and jaggedly ends.

            You stutter, grasping at something, anything coherent to say, or even think. Your head whirls with the beginnings of apologies, explanations, justifications, reprimands, threats, insults, you bite your tongue and taste blood and the sudden shock of sharp, unexpected pain finally slices a pathway for some of the whirling fragments in your head to follow to your mouth. You spit blood as you yell,

            “This is not my craft! You were clearly wrong! You should not have forced me to participate in this useless distraction and I should not have bent to your requests! It was reprehensible on your part and disgraceful on mine! Mucking about in the dirt is for rustbloods and I will not degrade myself to your level!” 

            You are breathing heavily, anger coursing through you, hot and venomous, your fists clenched at your sides, when you blink and swallow and see her expression. Fear and regret sink their claws into your insides and twist. You stammer, opening and closing your mouth, wringing your hands together, wanting to touch her, to hold her, to rip your own heart out and smash it into the ground if it would make her just stop looking at you that way, if it would stop the tears from seeping from her glossy, cavernous eyes, and stop mid-air the daggers they were glaring into your soul.

            “I think I want to be alone.”

            You let her words bleed you dry as she walks away, back to your hive.

 


	7. Contact

             You are in your patched-up respiteblock, holding your head in your hands, elbows at your desk, lamenting your idiocy.  Your shades begin to slip off your angular nose and you make no attempt to stop them. They clatter to the desk and catch the light, reflecting your own sorry face back at you. Should you attempt to apologize? You don’t know if it’s salvageable. Just when she was starting…starting to _like_ you. Tolerate you? Did she ever do even that? You grip your hair and grimace and fold your head into your arms.

You hear your door open.

            “Aurthour, not now, please. I am…not in the best of sorts.”

            “I know.”

            You jump and whirl around, nearly falling from the chair.

            She is standing behind you at the edge of the soft rug covering your otherwise hard and cold respiteblock floor. She is like fire; fierce, red, hair like smoke and eyes like embers. You notice she isn’t wearing your borrowed clothing anymore, her skirt pulled low and her blouse buttoned high, her caste symbol blooming maroon at the center of her chest.

           “Aradia,” You stand. “…I did not expect to see you for a while.”

           “Why would you?”

Her words sting you. You look at your feet.

            “I suppose…you are seeking an apology, which is quite called for. I overreacted, disgraced and insulted you and your craft, which you were so eager to share with me and only had the best of intentions when doing so. So, here it is. I apologize.”

You watch her feet move. She is toe-to-toe with you.

            “Look at me.”

Humility and shame melt you into a puddle and you drag your eyes from the floor to meet hers. Your impeccable posture loosens and your bloodpusher aches.

           “I’m sorry, Aradia. Not only for the events of the hours past, which are inexcusable on their own, but also for the sweeps of disdain and unmitigated and unprovoked disgust I cast upon you. You were never deserving of such treatment, and I suspect had I caught any other troll treating you the way I have treated you, I would have ripped him limb from limb, and never for a second paused to appreciate the irony. I knew you didn’t warrant the abuse I served so generously, yet I still did it, because I was too much a coward to question the rules. I speak of strength, and I posses anything but. I cared so deeply for you, but I cared for upholding and fulfilling some self-righteous social duty more so.  It is utterly reprehensible. It’s…it’s…”

You struggle to find the words. They don’t come to you. You settle for the truth at its most bare.

“It is not right. And I am sorry…I am so, so sorry. Please. Please forgive me.”

          You are still pouring into her gaze. You realize you aren’t wearing your shades and this must be the closest look at you she’s ever gotten without them. Your instincts urge you to break eye contact with her, but you can’t. They’re piercing and burn like hell, but you are desperately searching for something, anything in them that might indicate her forgiveness, perhaps even her tolerance of you thereafter. Affection, you deduce, has long been out of the question, had it ever been there in the first place. Your heart breaks in the heat of her gaze and you are a pillar of strength reduced to rubble. You lower your eyes.

            “Equius.”

You keep your eyes at your feet, examining the little pills of the rug between your toes.

            “Equius,” She cups your chin in her cool hand and levels her gaze with yours. You feel her pulse in her fingertips and you can hardly bear to look her in the eye. “You _are_ strong.”

Your ears perk. She continues.

            “That whole speech, it took strength to do that. You denied your place on the hemospectrum…for me. I know that it means a lot to you. That order of things and where I fall on it, it makes you uncomfortable, but you ignore it and come to help me when I need it, and it confuses you. I think I get that now. You’re angry that you can’t understand how you feel about me, so you do the only thing you can think of, and try to push me away for my own good, even if you don’t mean to. I messaged you when I fell because I knew you would be able to help me, and you wouldn’t waste a minute trying to reach me. You’re a good friend, Equius, as hard as you try not to be.” She smiles. “I’m not mad at you for yelling at me or even breaking the fossil. I was just confused and sad, but it’s okay now. I accept your apology.”

            You lower your ears, a sign of shame.

            “Aradia, stop trying to make me think what I have done to you is okay.”

            “I’m not. I’m trying to make you understand what you’ve _just_ done is okay.”

            You bite your lower lip and feel your teeth nearly pierce the skin. “You showed strength, humility, courage, everything expected of a blueblood,” She touches the tip of her nose to yours. You have nowhere to look except into the haunting beautiful caverns of her eyes.  “But you showed me instead of a highblood. You’re finally doing what’s expected of you for the reason _you_ want. And that reason is me, huh?”

            You squeeze your eyes shut and wring your hands together.

            “Yes.”

            You can hear her smile.

            Her lips are soft, but dry against yours. She cups your cheek in her palm and slides her other hand down to your hip. You hesitate to touch her, ever fearful of your own abilities, delicately twirling a lock of her hair through your fingers. Oh, her scent is extraordinary. Like rain and snow and clouds and all things that might temporarily mask life but from which it will eventually spring. You’ve never been this close to her before. She takes your other hand and gently holds it against her cheek. You begin to shake. You can’t risk it. You can’t do it. You shouldn’t, you can’t, you might hurt her, you might _kill_ her.

            You pull away; inhaling sharply, fear blossoming in your chest like a noxious blight. She is still leaning into you for a fraction of a second, then draws back, closes her lips and drops her eyes to the floor.

           “Aradia,” You take a small step toward her, “Please understand, I don’t hesitate because I dislike you, I hesitate because…if I…if you…were to break…I cannot risk damaging something I have neither the knowledge nor the means to repair.”

          “You underestimate me.”

          “No, you underestimate me. Aradia please, I cannot…I couldn’t...”

It’s her turn to examine her feet. She wrings her hands together, a habit you have never before seen her perform. She breathes in and speaks.

          “In the sparring ring, you could have hurt me. Carrying me here, you could have hurt me. Pulling that stupid arrow out of my leg, you could have hurt me. You are willing to take the risk, I know you are. This is something else. It might partly be about hurting me, but that’s not the whole thing. So what is?”

She looks up on her last word, searching on your face for the truth you haven’t realized yet. You poke the ground with your toe.

          “I suppose, aside from harming you physically, I’m afraid of harming you emotionally. There’s certainly enough proof from my past treatment of you that I have the capability. And after all, though I will fight it, it is in my blood. You deserve so much better than me. You deserve to be happy. I…I want you, but I don’t want to be the troll who doesn’t treat you right.”

She is suddenly toe-to-toe with you, her arms wrapped around your waist and her forehead buried in your chest. Taken aback, you wind your arms around her gently and nuzzle your nose into her hair between her curled horns.

        “Aradia?” you say into her hair.

        “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

        “Oh,”

       “Listen,” She looks up at you, brushing the tip of her nose to your chin, “You possess more than just physical strength. I’ve seen it, and I need you to see it too.” She presses her lips to yours briefly. “I trust you with my body and my quadrants. You can take it from there.”

        You blush darker than you think you ever have, but nod, manage an “I understand,” and press your forehead to hers, trying to let go of your inhibitions.

 


	8. Foreplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy stuff sexy stuff sexy stuff! (Brief depictions of air deprivation too, watch out. Descriptions of scars, too, if that bothers anyone?)

            She makes the first move, subtle, sliding her thumbs under the edge of your tank top and running them along your sharp hipbones. You brush your fingers along her cheek and trail them down her neck, across her collarbone, down her arm to her wrist, which you bring to your lips for a kiss. She smiles, her expression aglow, and takes your cheek in her hand as you kiss it. You try not to grasp her too hard.

          She snakes her hand up under your shirt and traces along your spine and shoulders, taking care to find the little scars you’ve earned in battle and slide her fingertips over the taught skin. You shiver as she lovingly caresses your imperfections. Does she have scars? Other than the fresh one on her knee, you don’t think you’ve seen any. Surely over the sweeps FLARPing and going on excavations, she’s accrued some? You slip your hands under her shirt and brush them very carefully against her back, seeing if you can find any. She fondles the seam along the neck of your tank top, beginning to blush. She stalls and kisses along the seam, a little semicircle of flutterbeasts brushing by your chest. You inhale and tilt back your chin, elongating your neck, enjoying the sensation. You find a scar along her shoulder; a straight line, deep, thick. From a knife? A hook? You trace it with your fingertip and she shrinks a little. You pause, wide-eyed.

          “Did I harm you?”

          “No, no. I’m okay.” She presses her hands flat against your stomach, feeling the musculature of your abdominals. You bite your lip and stifle an appreciative sound. You take your hands from under her shirt and carefully press yourself closer to her, burying your nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. You can smell that her internal chemistry has changed, and your body involuntarily responds to the stimulating scent.

          “ _Ohh_ …” You swallow a moan and you’re suddenly very unsure of the next step here. Do you say something?  Do you _do_ something? Has she noticed? Oh gosh it’s starting to ache… should you try to concentrate and mollify it a little? Better make a decision fast, or there will be no stopping--oh. Well. She’s noticed.

         God, her blush compliments her. You don’t care that her blood is the color it is right now. All you know is that the maroon filling her cheeks and tinting her ears is simultaneously the cutest and most flawless, beautiful addition to her complexion you have ever had the pleasure of witnessing. She is biting her lip, fiddling with the belt loops by your hips and pressing against the bulge in your shorts. You really really really really really need a towel.

         You rub your thumbs against the curve of her waist, trying to muster the courage to break the silence. Your pulse increases dangerously fast when you ask her,

         “Shall…shall I undress?”

         “Not yet.”  She inhales slowly and brings her hands to her high collar. Your heart leaps into your throat and pulses wildly as she undoes button after button. You hold your breath. She brings her lip between her teeth as she loosens the last button, letting it hang open, resting on her shoulders. She flicks her eyes up to meet yours. “Would you?”

         Your stomach flies up to meet your heart and you decide you shouldn’t try to speak as you carefully brush her shirt from her shoulders. It slides down her arms and bundles itself at her feet. She reaches behind her and you hear a zipper. Her skirt softly drapes itself around her ankles. You see for the first time the shape of her figure, broken by her simple undergarments. You marvel at the complexity and beauty of her body. She’s as intricate as a machine but soft as down and with a gaze piercing like arrows. She exhales.

            “Now you can.”

            “Ah…yes. Indeed.” Your fingers are shaking slightly as you grasp your shirt and your stomach plummets as you hear the tank top shred around your torso, exposing bare muscle. You look up at Aradia, who stands still, a little taken aback. You are about to apologize or fumble at an explanation when her lips turn up in a smile. Relief rushes to fill your body and you smile back. You move to unhook the belt from around your waist, but Aradia puts a hand over yours to stop you. She bites her lip and wordlessly does the deed herself, deftly unlocking your complex buckle. Your shorts hang loose on you on a good day, so they slide quickly down your thighs and plop to the floor, nails and screws weighing down your pockets. You blush as your boxers shamelessly throw you under the elongated four-wheeled vehicle. You reach to remove your thigh-highs.

            “Wait.”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “You can leave those on.”

            “…As you wish.”

            Aradia runs her fingers along the seam of your boxers and you nearly choke. You carefully take her by the hips and bring her close to you, pressing your stomach against hers. You’re sweating pretty hard, and her skin slides against yours. The sensation sends your insides whirling and oh god.

            Aradia’s hands are at your hips. Your boxers fold up around your ankles. Damn, she’s fast.

            You are naked and blushing, pressed against the length of Aradia’s body.

            “Your bloodpusher’s pounding.” She notes, her lips tracing your sternum as she speaks. She brushes her fingertips down your side, mercifully bypassing your bulge, and slips her fingers under the seam of your thigh-highs.

            “Why do you wear these?” She looks up at you, smiling expectantly. You actually just sort of always have worn these. You wonder what kind of answer she’s expecting.

            “Why do you suppose I wear them?”

            “Do your legs get cold?”

            “…They do, now that you mention it.”

She giggles, something you’ve never witnessed her to do, and buries her face in your chest. You feel something fill you up fit to burst, and you realize you are smiling too.

            “Aradia…I’m happy.”

            She peeks up from your chest, sees your expression and understands that this is actually a really big deal for you. She smiles gently and takes your face in her hand, drawing it nearer so she can kiss you. You notice that she still needs to stand on her tiptoes and you are struck clean through. You reach down and sweep her up in your arms, lifting her off the floor and holding her entirety close to you as you kiss her nose, her neck, her lips, despite her squeaks of protest at being so high from the ground.

 

           You’re a broken person. Broken nose, broken teeth, broken heart, most days. You’re in need of more repairs than all your robots put together. You’re missing pieces and fractured and riddled with imperfections, down to your core. But you’ve never felt as complete as you do now, holding Aradia in your arms, lifting her high, where she deserves to be, her hips braced against your ribs, gripping your shoulders for balance, laughing and saying your name, like the sound light would make reflecting off the pink moon. You press your lips to her shoulder, tinged maroon, peppered with freckles, which on anyone else would seem like blemishes, but they dust her skin like morning dew on a spider web, something unexpectedly resilient, maybe even dangerous, made breathtaking.

            She runs her fingers through your hair, brushing her fingertips along your horns, making you shudder. You rest your forehead beneath her collarbone, nervously placing a gentle kiss on the curve of her breast. She’s so soft against your angles and hard lines and sharp points. Her body gives around yours, contouring tenderly, meeting the resistance of your chiseled frame with forgiving softness, extinguishing the usual dangers of your unforgiving structure coming into contact with another body. Where you could not adjust, she made up the difference, complimenting you, completing you, reassuring you, and melting away your anxieties and fears of harming her. She is perfect, and she is perfect for you.

            She tilts her head back, arching her chest harder against your mouth. You balk for a moment, still careful to keep your arms from tightening around her. You part your lips and incrementally slide your tongue between your teeth, pressing it against her cool skin. You hear her sigh and she curls her fingers into your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at her. The sharp ache in your scalp sends a bolt of heat through your insides, pooling between your legs. She covers your mouth with hers, running her tongue over your lip. You part your lips and let her in, whining softly as she explores your mouth. The heat between your legs grows more intense, and you feel your erection pressing tighter against her thighs.

          She feels it, too. She breaks the kiss, touches the tip of her nose to yours, and gets a mischievous glint in her eyes. She parts her legs, wrapping them around your waist and crossing her ankles in the small of your back, her thighs resting on your hipbones and her rear brushing the top of your aching erection. You nearly choke, trying to form words, but your heart is pushing the blood too fast through your thinkpan and you can’t think, let alone speak. You unwind your arms from around her waist and move your hands to her thighs, digging your fingertips into her soft flesh with a moan.

          She looks down, grinning a little bashfully.

         “Do you like my legs?”

         What? What a ridiculous question! It knocks your thoughts back into gear.

         “God, yes. And your feet, and your arms, and your hands, and your nose, and your eyes, and your lips, god, your lips are flawless. You are flawless. I am like a mere mortal graced with the affections of a goddess!”

         You shift her weight to one arm and bring the hand of the other up to delicately touch her cheek, running your finger along her lips, curving into a smile. She draws your fingertip into her mouth and flicks her tongue across it, making your breath hitch. You swallow and press down on her tongue. She makes a noise of surprise, but her shock is only momentary. She wraps her mouth around your fingers and rubs her tongue against them, sucking on them, her gaze daring you to look away. You groan and watch her lips slide over your fingers, nipping the calloused pads, her tongue slipping into every contour and crevice.

        “Aradia…” You moan, your bulge dripping, seeping onto her panties, staining them blue. She moans your name around your fingers and your legs turn to jelly. You take a step back, trying to shift your combined weights and catch your balance, but your heel catches on the leg of your desk, and you topple backwards. Aradia’s weight is brought down onto your abdomen, knocking the wind out of you.

        You can’t breathe…oh…oh god you can’t breathe…she’s perched up there, sitting on you like a throne, regal and gorgeous even when alarmed, and you’re pressed ass-first into the carpet like an animal in heat and can’t draw air into your lungs to save your life. Holy sh-shit…holy _shit_ …this feels _fucking amazing…_

       She’s got her hands pressed to either side of your face, yelling your name, when your diaphragm finally unclenches and you swallow gulp after gulp of air, the color returning to your face. Your ears tune back in and you hear, if fuzzily at first, Aradia’s voice.

      “Oh my god, are you okay? Equius? Equius! I’m so sorry! Can you talk? Equius, please…!”

      Your eyes finally stop blearily spinning around the room and settle on her face, leaned close to yours, fear in her eyes. You reach up and briefly touch her face, then take one of her hands clutching your cheek and press it to your throat.

            “Do it again.”

            “I…what?”

            “Do it again! Please!”

She catches on and nods in understanding.

           “Are you sure?”

           You swallow, feeling your Adam’s apple rub against her palm, and nod, covering her free hand with yours, reassuringly. She inhales and holds her breath. She closes her fingers around your throat.  

 


	9. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sexy stuff! NSFW! This is the last installment! I'm sorry there was such a huge pause between this chapter and the previous one, I didn't have a computer for a week. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :)

 

            There is a brief, very brief, moment of panic, the moment where your lizard brain takes over and your instincts to survive clutch at your senses, repeating no no no no this isn’t right air is necessary air is good need air must have air…

            And then an inexplicable euphoria tapes sensibility’s mouth shut.

            You’ve never thought Aradia was weak, quite the contrary, but her grip on your throat is terrifying, unforgiving, dangerous, her thin, shapely fingers unexpectedly rigid and forceful, her lip drawn into her mouth. You don’t understand what it is that’s making you so insatiably aroused; the deprivation of oxygen; a lowblood toying with you with like something about to become lunch and looking down her nose at you, like an empress upon a street urchin, her chin tilted high; the fact that it’s _Aradia_ toying with you…you don’t care. A grin stretches across your strained face and your fingers start to go numb. You watch through increasingly severe tunnel vision as Aradia shifts her weight from your abdomen to oh…ohhh… _oh god oh god oh god..._

            She rubs your damp erection between her thighs, leaning her face closer to yours, blushing dark and red and fierce. Your teeth start to chatter and she presses her lips to yours, calming your tensing jaw. She’s sharp as a knife, improvised understanding shaping into experimental technique. She eases her grip on your throat, allowing you to suck in some air. Your head whirls in the sudden flood of oxygen and you brush your fingers along her cheek appreciatively, mouthing her name. She smiles softly and presses her hips hard to your pulsing bulge, gripping your sides between her thighs, squeezing the breath from you and keeping you from drawing any in by the fingers at your throat. Your head swims every time she incrementally relieves her grip on you, a dizzy ecstasy flooding you in waves at her behest. She’s in control of when you breathe, she’s in control of you, toying with the thread of your life, pulling it taught, letting it go slack, threatening to snap it as a seadweller would threaten a lowblood, but releasing the tension at the last moment, allowing you to draw in ragged breaths and prepare to do it all over again.

            Every time she allows you to inhale, you find yourself full of need, anticipating when your air would next be disrupted, wanting to feel again the complete and utter control Aradia wields over you with the simple act of placing her fingers at your throat. She deserves that kind of power. You want her to have that kind of power. You trust her with it, and this feeling…this depraved, twisted exultation is her reward to you for placing that trust, that power with her.

            Your vision is beginning to blur and black out, your extremities going numb, your lungs burning like fire. You feel her shift herself on top of you, but can’t look down or focus your vision to see what she’s doing. You feel her fingers squeeze briefly and then she removes her hand completely from your throat. You gasp as the room spins, greedily sucking breath into your aching lungs. Before you can exhale and take another breath, Aradia’s hips connect with yours, sliding herself onto you, the electrifying sensation keeping you from drawing breath even with your unrestricted throat.

            You look up at her, tense with uncertainty and passion, holding your breath, gazing reverently at Aradia, blushing and beautiful. She timidly touches a finger to your lip.

            “You can breathe now.”

            You exhale in a rush of emotion: love, lust, fear, awe, hope, want, need, her name is the moan on your breath and the taste in your mouth, the sensations in your body and the stirring in your blood. She’s smiling nervously and you’re ready to die happy, just seeing her expression like that, here, and now.

            “F-forgive me, I-I forgot…” You stammer, like an idiot.

She giggles and you can feel it reverberate through where your bodies meet. You swallow and carefully reach your hand up, cupping her cheek gently, your other hand sliding up her thigh and resting on her hip, cautiously pressing your fingertips into her soft skin.

            She leans down, touching her lips to yours, consequently sliding up on your bulge. You moan against her mouth, fighting the urge to lift your hips off the carpet and into her. She rotates her hips and closes the distance herself. You shudder and grip a handful of the carpet, carefully pressing yourself deeper inside her.

            Aradia shivers and a moan pours out of her into your mouth. You freeze, hearing her voice spill out in a sound like that making you painfully aroused. After a moment of your hesitation, she pulls her lips away from yours and looks you dead in the eyes, beads of sweat starting to form across the bridge of her nose.

            “Why did you stop?”

You bite your lip.

            “I-I am not sure how to proceed.”

            “Yes you are.”

            “I…beg your pardon?”

            “Keep going.”

You feel your teeth pierce your lip, your body tensing.

            “I…”

            “I said keep going.”

You shiver and feel your bulge throb inside her.            

            “Yes, ma’am.”

You close the distance between your hips and hers. She rears back, a sinful moan tearing from her lips. You shake your head, clearing the urge to balk, to back down and mutter something about inappropriate lewdness or safety risks. No. You were given an order and you’re going to follow it until she gives you another one. You pull back and push into her again, pressing your fingertips into her thighs when she gasps and cries out a second time.

            You isolate your own lustful hunger and crush it into the back of your mind. Her desires come first now. Not to mention it’s less likely you’ll break her pelvis when you’re concentrating on how best to please her. You watch her move her body in response to how you move yours, you watch her expression shift from shy to mischievous to lust to bliss and back to shy, cycling through every time you push upwards into her. You can analyze, memorize, and appropriately respond to the individual fighting styles of your robots in less than a minute.  You’re confident that, inexperienced as you are in this field with her, you can apply the same formula here. You observe her from the ground, where you would usually scoff at the idea of laying ass-first, but where you want to be in relation to her. You draw a conclusion, nervously swallow, and decide to ask permission for something.  

            “Aradia?”

She blinks out of her ecstasy.

            “Yeah?”

            “I understand you ordered me to continue, and I will happily do so, should that be your wish, but I request permission to deviate from your command in order to implement a…technique I think you’ll find very, er…agreeable.”

            “You mean you want to experiment?”

You watch her eyes flash and bite your lip, sweat starting to pool by your collarbones.

            “Er…yes.”

She shrugs, the movement like water falling into a stream.

            “If you think I’ll like it, definitely.”

You feel a muscle in your cheek twitch.

            “If you could…possibly, erm…be a little more forceful in telling me what to dgggghh…”

Her thighs close around your sides again, constricting the movements of your diaphragm. She leans down close, her eyes boring into yours, daring you to look away.

            “I order you to please me.”

Your blood races through you. _God_ , she’s razor sharp. You can’t draw breath to affirm her command, so you nod and let a grin slide over your face.

            She returns the smirk and allows you to inhale. You swallow and raise yourself up on your elbows, briefly pressing a kiss to her abdomen. She inhales as you move beneath her, but lets out a soft laugh, tilting her chin back and glowing like fire. You gulp, in so much awe of her beauty it hurts, and carefully shift your combined weights forward, standing on your knees, slipping your arms under her thighs, drawing them carefully forward and wrapping them around your waist. You can feel her pulse increase and her eyes widen. You pause.

           “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

She chuckles and gives you a sideways glance.

            “You’re kidding, right?”

            “Of course not. Your safety and comfort are tantamount. If I overstep your personal boundaries thennmmmf…”

            Her thin hand tastes salty over your mouth. She’s smirking at you, eyebrows cocked.

            “I’m fine, Equius. If I’m not okay with something you do, then I’ll let you know.” You nod and kiss her palm. She smiles softly and moves her hand from your mouth to your cheek, pressing her thumb to your lips, not entirely gently.  “Weren’t you about to do something? Keep going.” 

            You hear a thin whine escape your throat, your fingers clutching at her thighs as you push yourself deeper inside her. You watch her lips pull back in a grimace of momentary shock at the sensation, then turn up at the edges as one disappears between her teeth. You blush and hesitantly edge your lips closer to hers, wanting to taste her again but worried you’ll cross a line by initiating anything without her permission. She catches on and burns through your timidity like wildfire, cupping your chin in her cool hand and drawing your face closer, inviting you to cover her mouth with yours. You shiver and do so, humming into her mouth and gently pushing her hips away from your own, feeling your abdomen seize at the sensation of her sliding along your erection. Her weight sways out from your body, anchored at your lips and swinging like a pendulum back down onto you. She cries out in fierce pleasure and you feel your insides melt at the sound.

            You push her hips away from yours and bring her down on you again, brow furrowed and skin tingling. You repeat the movement over and over again, pushing and pulling her suspended weight, sliding her up and down your increasingly sensitive bulge, slipping in and out of her, hearing her breath hitch in your ear and feeling her fingers wind themselves into your hair.

            She presses her tongue to your teeth, moans pouring into your mouth. She slides her fingers through your hair and trails them along the ridges in your horns. You tense and gasp, the shock causing your fingers to fumble at her thighs briefly. She uses the brief pause to catch her breath, then levels her gaze at you, your eyes full of strained need. A roguish smirk crosses her face and she grips the bases of your horns. You choke and dig your nails into her thighs involuntarily.  She winces but squeezes harder.

            Your breath starts to become ragged. You want to keep moving inside her, but she’s got you incapacitated, gripping your horns, pleasure interrupting the connection your brain has with the rest of your body.  You feel her unhook her ankles from the small of your back and rest her calves against your sides, holding you at arms’ length. You watch her, hands resting on her thighs, but not holding them. She runs her hand along the length of your unbroken horn and waits to see you shiver before bringing herself down on your pulsing bulge.

            You choke, your insides twisting and melting, honkbeast bumps racing over your skin and your pulse skyrocketing, forcing blood too fast through your brain and down south to your erection, which Aradia is currently riding like a hoofbeast that needs taming. You can’t move, it’s taking all the willpower you have left just to stay standing on your knees, moans and gasps and whines tumbling out of your mouth one after the other, occasionally harmonizing with hers, which only makes you cry out louder. Your fingers spasm, clawing and clutching at her thighs. She responds by twisting her hands around your horns and slamming her hips harder into yours.

            You feel a different sensation start to build between where your bodies connect and a thought manages to surface from the mushy recesses of your thinkpan.

            _Bucket. You need a bucket. Now, right now._

            Your muscles start to tense and you try to force your tongue to work. You need to say something to her, you can’t risk pushing her off of you, especially when you have such limited control of your limbs, you don’t have long, you need to get a bucket, she needs to stop she needs to pause you need a second here oh god can’t she tell you’re about toneedabucketsaysomethingcan’tthinkcan’tspeakneedhertostopneedhertowaitneedherneedherneedAradia _needAradianeedAradiaAradiaAradiaAradia…!_

            You manage to let out a strangled cry and meet her eyes with a pleading, pained look. Understanding dawns on her in a nanosecond and she drops her feet to the floor, pulling off of you.

           “Where?” She gasps.

           The most you can do is throw your gaze to your recuperacoon. She scurries over to it and hurriedly scans in and around it before finding and snatching your bucket out from behind it. She rushes back to you and plants it on the carpet between your knees, pressing a breathy kiss to your lips. Her gasps slipping into your mouth are what do it. You nearly double over as you orgasm, trembling and tensing, a slave to your sensations and the sensations she’s giving to you.

           Your hands grope at the air, desperately searching for something to hold onto. She covers them with hers and brings them to rest on her hips. You try to deviate some brainpower there to ensure you don’t grip too hard, but her hips are so soft and forgiving, the danger is barely present. You feel her moan against your mouth, one hand clutching at your hair, twisting and knotting her fingers into it, pulling at your scalp. You distantly wonder where the other one is.

          You whine and gasp as your orgasm racks your body one more time before shuddering to completion. You breathe heavily against her mouth, your lips pressed awkwardly against hers, her exhaustion starting to show, leaning her weight against you. You blearily blink, trying to focus your eyes on something. You’re blushing pretty damn fiercely. You rest your forehead against hers, not yet confident you can balance the weight of your head on your shoulders without toppling over. You finally manage to bring your vision back into focus and your gaze is met with the bucket between your knees. It’s brimming with your own slick contributions, dripping down the sides and seeping into the carpet in some places, but there’s a swirl of maroon trickling from Aradia’s stained fingers hovering over the bucket and mixing with your own. You slowly lift your eyes to hers, still panting, sweat running down the bridge of your nose and threatening to fall. She’s blushing, but smiling shyly.

         “Did you just...?”

         “Yeah.”

You stutter, partly from bashful shock that she finished herself right in front of you, partly from embarrassed disappointment that you weren’t the one to bring her to climax.

            “I would have been happy to--”

            “You looked kind of, um,” She giggles. “busy. Maybe next time you can. Or you can watch.” She flashes you a wicked grin. You swallow.

            “Next time?”

            “Yeah. Or maybe next time, I’ll come first.”

You stammer,

            “Th-th-that is…i-incredibly indecent to discuss aloud…” She rolls her eyes and smiles. You gather your faculties. “But I…would not object to…to p-pleasing you first…next time…”

            She touches the tip of her nose to yours and grins.

            “I wouldn’t, either.”

You shiver and swallow. You shift your weight and realize how stiff and sore you are. You hadn’t noticed how long you had been in that position on your knees. She spots you wincing and promptly wrings her fingers over the bucket (you gulp as she does) and stands, offering you her hand. She’s standing tall and bare in front and above you, flawless and brilliant.

            You timidly take her hand and stand, groaning as your legs stretch and uncramp. You stand a little hunched over as the muscles in your legs slowly ease, and examine your carpet. It’s stained with sweat and fluids from both of you. Half of you feels your stomach turn at the lewd and criminalizing uncleanliness, the other half of you wants to leave everything just as it is as proof that this encounter actually took place. Your faculties are returning to you and disbelief starts to fill the space in your thinkpan that lust had recently vacated. She’s here. You and she…does this mean…

            “Does…does this mean we, er…share the flushed quadrant, now?”

You watch her blush and you look at your feet.

            “Do you want it to mean that?”

She cups your cheek and levels your gaze with hers.

            “My wishes are not important,” You say, filled with honesty. “Yours are of paramount importance, and though I’m sure you would not stand for being in a romantic predicament that you would be more happy out of, I feel I must tell you that this encounter does not bind you to my quadrants, should you not wish it to do so. Though…” You chew your tongue for a moment. “If it might sway your decision…I would be made very happy if it did indeed mean we were matesprits.”

            You swallow and search her expression hopefully. You feel relief and joy wash over you when she smiles and nods and says,

            “Lucky for you, that’s what would make me happy, too.” Her smile falters a little and it’s her turn to look at her feet. “I’m sorry our courting before becoming matesprits began and ended with sex…” 

            You blink and grip her hands, bringing them close to your chest.

            “What? No, I should be the one apologizing for that. Your repeatedly forgiving attitude towards my loutish, fumbling, idiotic atempts at confused advances, at best, was so much more than I deserved. However, if you would like to try and make up for lost ground…I mean, you are aware I am not much of a cook, but…I could have Aurthour prepare a candlelit dinner…”

            She chuckles and squeezes your hands.

            “That sounds nice, but maybe we should wash up first.”

You glance over your sweaty and love-stained bodies.

            “Er…yes.”

            “Together?”

            “…Please.”

She grins and nods and leads you to the ablution room. 


End file.
